


Project John

by maradidepaig



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-12 01:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maradidepaig/pseuds/maradidepaig
Summary: John was starting a new life after Sherlock's suicide. He met Mary, a beautiful and nice woman. But Sherlock had fallen in love with him. How would he confess his love towards John, and how would John react?





	Project John

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, I'm a beginner, and my dear readers, please forgive me for my really bad writings. Please leave kudos if you enjoy my work. Every show of support will be very encouraging to me! I hope I can bring everyone a bit of amusement in their lives and wish all of you a happy day : )

_**Heart-broken** _

 (John)

Two years it had been, and yet the surge of sorrow still lingered around. Every day I woke up, battered by nightmares, and remembered that I was alone. The room around me, so quiet, so empty, so miserable it echoed with my broken heart.

            I dreamt of the war again, with all the usual scenes, but I saw a tiny shadow far far away, an element that never appeared in my dreams. The familiar slim figure, the coat, the curly hair. “Sherlock!” I called. I ran towards him, and reached my arms to touch him, but right upon that touch, the figure disappeared and a pile of smoke was all that was left. The wicked laugh of Moriarty rang in my ears.

            I woke up with a jolt, terror-stricken.

            I checked the clock, and realized that it was only five in the morning. After several unsuccessful attempts to get back to sleep, I sat on the sofa and turned on the telly. What else could I do? I don’t live that crime-solving twenty-four seven life anymore, not after _the_ incident. Without the genius digging out creepy little things around and suddenly announcing that we were breaking into some big bad guy’s house, I got nothing to do. It is like there is no point in living, I was practically just a ship that lost its sail.

            Yes, I would describe Sherlock as my sail. He was the one who drove my life, and lit me up. If I was a watch, he would be the gear; If I was the Earth, he would be the axis. I never liked saying these mushy things, but, regretting how I never got the chance to thank my flat mate for bringing so much joy into my life, I would never see him again, I would never be able to tell him how much I cared about him and how much I valued him.

            Oh! I couldn’t breathe whenever my thoughts were drawn to him. I could not bear to think of our happy memories. That was why I moved out of Baker Street. I could not live at where he had lived with me. Every tile, every brick, reminded me of him.

            “Beep beep!” Went my alarm. “Eleven o’ clock, time to wake Sherlock.” The words blinked on my phone screen. In these two years, I had not changed anything. Not even the hundreds of alarms that I set up just for my annoying flat mate.

            A month before that fateful day on which he took his life, when he was still with me, I woke up one day as usual, much earlier than Sherlock. And at eleven, the alarm went off and I knocked on his bedroom door. With no response, I kicked it open, and said, “Wake up, Sherlock, it’s eleven.”

            The floor was a mess, with his coat and shirts everywhere, and some torn pages from his notebook, scribbled on was Sherlock’s untidy handwriting about a case we’re working on.  

            I sighed. Sherlock was sound asleep on his bed, and he looked so calm and peaceful. The look on his face was babyish and angelic, so different from his usual arrogant and cold face expressions. In these days he often looked upset, I’d never seen him like this. Whenever he got a case, he would be over the moon. But then, with the Moriarty case, I could see that it worried him a lot. He barely smiled, talked or do anything except thinking. Misery knitted his brows together, and unspoken sadness gloomed the house. At that time I did not know what he was planning, and I did not ask, but it pained me to see him down like this.

            I didn’t wake him up, because I did not want him to face whatever he was facing, whatever that worried him. I did not want to see that peacefulness slip away from his face. I smoothen the bedsheets and sat down on his bed. I studied him, from his eyelashes to his lips. He was like a little child, care-free, innocent, adorable. There was a strange sensation glowing in my heart, I was not sure what it was, but I let it be, I let it send an impulse towards my brain, I let it move my hand to touch Sherlock’s face softly. My fingers moved along his cheekbones, and I tugged his hair, twisting those lovely curls.

            Suddenly I felt someone tickling at my waist. I lost my balance and fell of the bed. I struggled to get up but accidentally tripped over Sherlock’s slippers and fell flat onto the floor. Sherlock roared with laughter, pointing at me. I must have looked hilarious.

            “It hurts!” I said, messaging my elbow, “Why are you doing this?”

            Sherlock was still laughing. “I know your tickle point, I never miss it!” He said, beaming with pride.

            “You know, I will punch you if you don’t stop messing around.”

            “No you won’t! You won’t!” Sherlock chuckled.

            That was so Sherlock, his usual naughtiness. How I missed him! I missed him messing around in the house, I missed his look when he blew something up, I missed his arrogant little smirk after he pranked me, I missed everything about him.

            People always say you don’t realize how important someone is to you until you lose them. Yes, I didn’t even know how much I value Sherlock in my heart. I don’t know, I just feel hollow without him beside me. I used to confide everything to him, and he would listen, even when I know these human emotions bored him. He was a good flat mate. He was a good friend.

            Well, of course I had gone to his grave. I talked to him. Yeah, I’d got lots and lots of things to tell him. All the things which I never got the chance to tell him, that he was the best human being I had ever met, that he was my everything, that I forgave him for his nasty tricks, his arrogance, his childish behavior, as long as he could get back to me.

            “One more miracle, Sherlock, for me, don’t be dead. Would you do this just for me? Just stop it, stop this.” I almost cried. But in fact I didn’t. I didn’t want him to see my all sad and lonely, because I know, I know he would be unhappy down there if I was not happy. I forced a smile.

            The thing that pained me most, is not his death. Well of course it was painful, it was painful like hell, but the worst part was how he died in vain. I could not accept that he killed himself in guilt and shame, when the whole world put its blame on him. People said really bad things about him. I couldn’t let him just die like this. If he had to die, this… hero, this… best friend of mine, he would have to die gloriously, with friends and family around, flowers stuffed in the room, plenty of laughter, something like this.

            So, he would like laughter around him, therefore I could not cry in front of him. I did not want to make his burden heavier. I didn’t want him to think that he had broken my heart. I patted his gravestone, just as how I patted his shoulders when we solved a crime together in the past. In the best of times.

 

            _I wish you all the best, Sherlock._

_  
_

 

**Confusion**

 (Sherlock)

A knock on the door.

“Oh, come in, Mycroft. You can skip those delicate little acts, you are never a polite man who respects people’s privacy. I am used to your encroachment.” I said.

“Good morning, brother mine. How’s your day?” Oh, that fake smile, that _Mycroft-ish_ smile.

            He pulled a chair and sat down, facing me. What was he doing here? Did something happen? I was not very used to not knowing people’s intention when they come to me. Well, at least for the average ones. Everything about them could be deduced in an instant. But that would not be working for my brother. He was too… uh … non-average. I would like to say smart, but not quite. I would never say to him or describe him in a word of praise.

            “You should know, it has been almost two years. Since your ‘suicide’.” He said with a shrug on the word. “The people you left behind, the life you abruptly left.”

            Yes. London. How I missed the feeling of it.

            “And John. Your… uh… _colleague_.” Mycroft struggled to find the right word.

            Oh yes, John! What happened to him? Although I didn’t like to admit, I did feel a little guilty for leaving him alone. I felt close towards him. He didn’t call me a freak. And I still remembered how his eyes widened, and his jaw dropped, when I first showed off my deduction skills to him. “Wow, amazing!” He said, with a voice very curious indeed. I quite appreciate his exclamation. That’s why I consider him a very good partner. He was so, plain and normal, average IQ, cute.

            Did I say cute? What happened to me? I didn’t mean cute. I, em, I, I mean… I could not find another word to describe him. This was a strange feeling. Whenever I thought about him, I would tremble a bit. His care-free smile, his lovely jumpers and jackets. They reminded me of the times we spent together. I felt an urge to go back to Baker Street and say hi to him. I kind of miss him fumbling around.

            “Your thoughts are wondering. Oh let me see, what are you thinking about, brother dear? Dilated pupils, reddening cheeks, oh give me your hand,” He pulled my arms towards him. “And, quickening pulse. You are missing John. You are feeling human emotions, aren’t you? _Love_ , well, Sherlock, is it _love_ that you feel?”

            What? Love? No! I was a high-functioning sociopath, I was not capable of human emotions! Of course I don’t love him. I just, sort of… It’s odd. I did not know how I felt about John. I had never felt something like this before. The feeling of being happy and comfortable at the thought of him.

            “You are confused. Your heart is saying that you indeed feel emotions, but your brain refuses to acknowledge that. You are disagreeing with yourself, Sherlock.”

            I was tired of Mycroft’s lectures. I was not a kid anymore, for God’s sake. I had had enough of my childhood listening to him instructing me this and that. I was annoyed of how he always outwitted me, how he always saw through me. I pushed him out. I couldn’t see why he was caring about me so much, why he couldn’t just leave me alone.

            Silence in the house, at last. My head felt empty.

            Something in my conscious told me that lying to John was not the right thing to do. I was there when he visited my grave. The speech he gave, the things he said, it was a teensy bit touching. Well I didn’t know where those words touched because I did not have a heart, but still, I noticed that he was grieving. He was grieving because I was dead, at least in his thoughts.

            Maybe he did care about me. As a flat mate, I was annoying, and a bit crazy, but he tolerated me. I realized I should not leave him alone. My sudden suicide must have hurt him deeply. I didn’t feel sympathetic to others, but to John, my feelings were different. I would want him to be happy. I would want him not to suffer. But I could see that my “death” drained all the cheerfulness in his life.

            I was dazzled. What was this special something I felt about John? “You love him, don’t you?” The voice of Mycroft continued to swirl inside my mind.

            _Love_?

            What was _love_?

            Was I feeling _love_?

            What had I become?

            I realized that the only person who could answer my questions was Mycroft. For Christ’s sake I hated to consult him, but I guessed I had no other options now, did I?

            I picked up my phone and called him.

 

 

 

**New life.**

 (John)

I’ve found someone. She’s lovely. I love her, how she brightened up my day and accompany me when I was going through all the sleepless nights.

“I know what you are thinking about, I know that frowning face,” She said quietly, on my bed, “Remember? No negative thoughts tonight, you promised! Now, come here, let’s… have some fun?”

I met her some weeks ago. That was a cold, briskly night. I lay in my bed, tossing and turning, tortured by nightmares. Unable to put up with the troubles, I went down the streets and went into a pub. I didn’t particularly enjoy alcohol, but a few quick slips of beer could temporarily pull me away from sorrow. I was getting a little drunk and I was fuzzing about in the bar. I created quite a mess there when I bumped into a girl holding drinks.

Her martini spilled all over the place and wet her dress. I was mumbling sorry for a thousand times when I looked into her face. She was so pretty that I froze, staring at her. She said that it was okay. God, she had such nice voice, like that of an angel’s.

Through my drunkard eyes, she was the most beautiful human being that I had ever known. As an action to express my apology, as well as to earn myself some time observing her, I accompanied her home. We talked along the way. She said her name was Mary. Oh, Mary, I thought, what a lovely name.

That night I stayed at her house. That was more than enough progress for one day.

The next day we went for a walk in the park, and dined out at a French restaurant just round the corner. It was one of those diners recommended to me by Sherlock, and I recalled the first time I ate there, with Sherlock. We even got mistaken as a couple by the shop-owner. It was quite late at night and we were out catching a criminal, running through the lanes and roads of London. We got hungry and decided to stop by and eat something first. It was quite a romantic dinner, as I remembered. There was a flickering candle between us, and we sat, facing each other.

In the past few months I had never had the courage to visit the places which Sherlock and I often went together. And that meant a hell lot of places, the library, the train station, millions of restaurants, etc. But now with Mary, I felt refreshed. I was a new man. She transformed me from a poor grieving man to a cheerful lad, determined to get my life right.

Mary was sitting face to face with me, and there was also a candle between us. It was a romantic night. Our first date! Looking at her blue, glittering eyes, I felt secured. That was a feeling I had not felt in ages, not during the war, and of course not when dealing with dangerous criminals with Sherlock.

For the first time in forever, I felt truly happy.

This woman in front of me was going to bring light back into my miserable life. I was a ship that had just changed sail. Sherlock had left my life and was out of my memory. Mary had become my new sail. My life turned around her like how the Earth moved around the Sun. The past and its sorrow, I left it all behind me. I was now running a new track, and pursuing a new goal: Mary.

 

 

 

**A plan**

 (Sherlock)

            Mycroft seemed calm when I phoned him. Had he expected my call? I just hate the thought so much that he could really see through me. He knew my feelings and he knew what I’d be doing. It was annoying to have such a brother, but it was not always a bad thing.

            When your brother knew everything about everyone in the world, he might be useful at times.

            Surprisingly, as the only person whom I could confide in except John, Mycroft was very open towards my new situation: the building up of my affection towards my former flat mate. I could still not quite get over the fact that I had a heart, that I would be loving someone. I reported everything I felt at the moment to my brother, and he listened without much talking.

            “Good. I’ll be helping you.” He said coolly at the end of our conversation.

            We formulated a plan, to get John back to me.

            Now was the time that my homeless network became really great use to me. The photographs taken by them was pinned all over the wall of my flat. That woman he was dating was everywhere in the room. I could almost stare into her large blue eyes when I was lying on the sofa.

            The woman had not a disgusting look, but I could quite get why John could be attracted to such a woman. I mean, honest, his levels were falling every time, from Sarah and now to this… well, plain-faced… hu…human?

            Anyway, I was rather pleased with the progress of my project to snatch my cute little flat mate from the woman, one of the hardest case for me to crack, which I named _project_ _John_.

 

 

 

**Suspicion.**

 (John)

“Mary?” I called from the living room. I spotted a good film on TV, and I wanted to watch it with her. With the popcorn ready, I called again.

No response. What was she doing in the bedroom? Maybe washing-up? Or just entertaining herself browsing around my blog? I tip-toed towards the closed bedroom door, forming an attempt to give her a nice little scare.

I heard a soft voice coming out from the gap between the door and the floor. It was surely Mary’s voice, but much more serious and low-pitched. It was like the voice of an agent on work, stony and steel-edged. Puzzled, I stayed and listened.

“Yes, yes. I will. Yes sir.” A pause. “Oh, he is doing fine. Yeah, but he’s evidently in love with me.” Another pause. “Great, I’ll report the updates to you.”

What? What was going on? WHO was in love with WHOM? WHAT UPDATES? I was so confused that my mind was blank.

What secrets were my girlfriend hiding from me? I realized that she never really mentioned her past to me. I hadn’t know a thing about her before that night at the pub.

After a while, Mary came out from the room with a smile. I half-expected her to tell me what she had been doing inside. But well, she didn’t.

“What are you doing just now, sweetheart? I’ve called you several times. ” I asked casually.

She responded with a laugh. “Oh, nothing. Just messing around in your pool of shaving cream?”

I was very disappointed. What had she known that she had not told me? Who was she? Behind the sweet face, what kind of hideous liar hid? I thought with a shiver. Who had I been dating and kissing all these months?

 

 

 

**Time to act.**

 (Sherlock)

I was quite impressed with that woman. She had skills of a professional intelligence agent. I was very disappointed with myself that I had not been able to spot anything different in her before Mycroft told me her real identity.

Actually I could not help laughing at how ignorant John had been. He had been dating with an assassin for months already. Unless she hid really really well, one could not have missed the clues that she had a special background. Really, John? You really thought you were dating a innocent little girl? At that thought, I chuckled, but when I remembered that John would probably still be hating me to death for deceiving him for two years, my heart dropped.

I had been contacting the woman for a few times, and got regular updates on John’s life. He hadn’t changed much, still my cute doctor and my cute blogger.

I felt a little bit sorry for John that all this had been a lie. His “girlfriend” was never in love with him. Every bit of his life was planned, like the settings from a movie.

Before the great day of revelation, I would like to have some fun.

That woman was called to Mycroft’s office to report John’s daily schedules. John was such a regular little man, never changing his habits. Monday, lunch at Macy’s. Tuesday, dinner at Jim’s. Wednesday, little break at the library. So predictable.

I was told that John would be asking the woman out that night, presumably for a movie at the Grand Cinema. So I prepared myself, had a proper disguise and set off to the cinema. I wanted to observe how a proper date should be, so that I could familiarize myself with John’s likes. I had never had such experiences or witnessed any normal dating, so you’d have to excuse me for prying on John’s private life like that. These information would surely do me good if I, no, _when_ I date John myself.

And my deduction was never wrong, the two were indeed going for a film, and I, disguised as some ordinary passer-by, also bought a ticket and got seated right next to John.

I arrived early. John and his date had not yet arrived. I could hardly hide my eagerness to meet him. God, it’s been two years, how I missed cuddling around him when I could not get on with a case. I pictured the loving couple having a candlelight dinner somewhere, saying sweet things, and a sense of jealousness burned inside me. I would surely get rid of that woman as soon as possible, she would only block the pass way between John and me.

They came, at last. The first thing I noticed was that awful mustache. My flat mate looked very ancient indeed. Even my father seemed younger than him. Once I got him in my hands, I would definitely get rid of that filthy mustache.

            I would never, ever allow my cute little doctor to get ugly.

 

 

 

**Revelation.**

 (Sherlock)

            John got seated next to me. I could feel his body warmth against me. The fresh scent of his hair gel flushed into my nose.

            A familiar smell.

            He was saying sweet things to his girlfriend, so sweet I could not bear to hear. Every loving sound that came out of his mouth, was a dagger driven straight into my heart.

            He did not notice me, but all the time during the film, I watched his face, every feature of him was perfect. I felt my hands trembling as I looked into those watery blue eyes. I struggled to control myself, as I fought back the urge to touch him. He was so small, so extraordinary, and yet far beyond my reach.

            He would never fall in love with me, a tiny voice in my head said. Funny how my hard drive got room for such nonsense.

            His heart had never been, and never would, be mine.

            He thought I was dead, and so soon he could get over me. Maybe he didn’t even mourn for me. I was swept away from his mind, and replaced by that woman. Once, I filled his life with excitement, and now I was nothing more to him but a puff of smoke.

            I never meant anything to him.

            I felt my legs shaking, and tears that welled in my eyes. John, oh, John!

            No. NO!

            Why was I thinking about that? Nonono, I must not let negative emotions cloud my judgements.

            I calmed down. Well, sort of.

            I observed his face, and I saw a face loaded with joy and cheerfulness that he never showed when he was out with me. Every time I sat in the house, he pulled that serious, and done face and he was so constantly full of worries. But to his date, he got a charming smile, and they were a nice little couple.

            He would not love me back. At the moment, if I suddenly popped up being alive, he would probably hate me to the core, for deceiving him.

            I couldn’t… I… I… couldn’t bear the pain, I could not lose him again.

            I was sinking in a pool of sadness. I felt the hot tears rolling down my cheeks. It was an emotion I so rarely feel.

            At that blink moment, I could control myself no more, and I stared into his eyes.

            John turned his head towards me, annoyed, and said furiously, “Excuse me, but why are you staring at me all the time? Do I know you? Can you stop tha…” he stopped abruptly, and his jaw fell open. His gaze was piercing through my disguise, and I felt as if he was ripping open my heart.

            After a truly embarrassing stare that lasted for almost a minute, he got up, and dragged me along by my coat collar. I was stumbling on the outstretched legs of the people at the cinema, but John looked so angry so I dared not make a sound.

            Sherlock Holmes, oh, Sherlock Holmes, what had you done? Now you ruined everything!

            John pulled me to the cinema hall, and crossed his arms. “So, explain yourself, Sherlock Holmes.” I saw the anger that hid beneath him, but he was trying very hard not to make a huge outburst of rage. I considered my words carefully, tailoring them to avoid triggering his outburst.

            “I… I…” I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat was dry and no sound came out. I was panicking, partly because I could finally look properly into John’s beautiful eyes, and partly because he was definitely mad at me.

            I clenched my fists, gulping my words down to my stomach. I could not tell him, how could I?

            I tried so hard, but one moment of impulse made me sputtered out the words I so carefully attempted to hide, but at the same time so desperate to tell.

_“I missed you very much, John. And… and… I love you…”_

_  
_

 

**Tragedy.**

 (John)

            Upon hearing those words, I was shocked. Yeah, well, I was _terror-stricken_. There was this man sitting beside me in the movies, constantly staring at me. That weirdo had absolutely ruined my date with Mary.

            I got so annoyed and I turned around to confront him. And then I saw it. I saw him. It was a clever disguise, but, I knew it was him. I just knew it. Still that cold, all-knowing look, but there was misery and loneliness on his face. I was shocked, and my mind went blank. I didn’t know what I was doing when I dragged him out. All I was thinking about was how unfair life was. Two years he had let me grieve for him, worry about him, care about him, miss him, and love him. Now he suddenly popped out alive, like nothing had happened. And he did not even try to make contact with me. He had no idea how painful these years had been to me. He had no idea.

            I was breathing hard, and I did not want to make a huge fuss at the cinema, but I was so angry, so angry.

            Sherlock looked at me like a puppy discovered doing naughty things by its master, wagging its tail and begging for forgiveness. His eyes soften and was red and swollen. He was trying to speak, but he just gulped those words down.

            When he finally spoke, he had really taken me by surprise. Just this sentence, “I love you, John.” seep into my heart like a swirl of warm air, gushing in my veins, warming my heart and my soul.

            All those years I dreamt of him by my side, I dreamt of living happily with him for the rest of my life, just the two of us against the world. And this sudden revelation didn’t seem true to me. Sherlock Holmes would never fall in love with anyone, let alone me.

            All of a sudden I remembered how cruel he had treated me, and I was filled with rage again. He did not care about me, he didn’t even remember me, how on earth would he love me? That was impossible. He said those words just to make me forgive him.

            What was I? A toy? I am not a thing that you play with on your palms.

            I was done. I was so done. Sherlock Holmes, I would hate you forever.

            So I said to him, “Do not touch me, you don’t deserve it. You know what, they are right about you. You are a psychopath, and you are a wicked man. You broke into my life, messed it up, and then abandoned me like some kind of rubbish. I hate you, and I will hate you forever. You don’t deserve my love. You don’t deserve anything. You can go straight out to the streets and get run over by a car, and I will not help you. I will stand here and see you injured, lying on the road. Because that’s what man like you deserve to be. Leave me alone.”

            My words were full of hatred, and Sherlock was so hurt. He looked as if someone had driven a dagger into his heart. He was in pain, and his features were all ugly twisted, and he whispered my name for a dozen times.

            I knew I was too mean, and I knew actually, I really loved him, but at that moment, I was too angry to think otherwise. He deserved to be hurt, just as how he hurt me before.

            He whispered my name again and again, but I turned and left.

            I had taken a few strides when I saw a dark shadow sprinting towards the door. I could not see clearly but I thought it was Sherlock. See? He could totally forget about me in a second or two. Why should I care?

            Suddenly I heard a scream and the sharp screeching sound of a car’s brake. There was a road accident on the street. I walked outside and saw Sherlock, lying on the road in a pool of blood, and some petrified pedestrians were surrounding him.

            His trench coat was soaked red, and he was lying unconscious. I rushed towards him, yelling, crying, and I felt very bad. I was so mean when I said those words to him. I was so mean to leave him in that cinema hall.

            I regretted hurting him, I only cared about my pride, and I failed to nothing how much he loved me, and, being an emotional person, he could not bear my unkind remarks about him. All those pained whispers, they were his way of begging for forgiveness, and saying goodbye to me one last time. His redden eyes were his thirst for me. He begged me to forgive him, and begged me to understand him, but I didn’t. I turned away.

            “That dude just ran onto the streets suddenly, scared me to death. He was screaming some something, something about a guy called John and he was apologizing.  He begged the drivers to knock him over and kill him. That man was crazy!” The driver said, pointing a finger at Sherlock.

            Lost in sadness and remorse, I lost my balance and fell to the ground.

            In a blur, I saw someone dressed in black carry Sherlock’s body away. I screamed for them to stop, I screamed for them to let me hug Sherlock for one last time. Thieves! Thieves! He was my everything! I never even got the chance to look at him properly since two years ago, I never even got the chance to touch him! He left my life, reentered so abruptly and because of my own fault, left it again, shamefully.

            I stumbled and stood up on my feet, feeling so dizzy with guilt, and I felt weak. I ran towards those men like a drunk, shouting and wailing, but I was immersed in unbearable sadness that I fainted.

 

_Sherlock. Sherlock. I am so sorry. I… I… I… am… so… so sorry._

_  
_

 

**Happy ending.**

 (Sherlock)

            Where was I? It’s blurry, and it was white. I saw faces, and I heard noises.

            I felt weak. Was I dead?

            “So, you woke. I’ve been waiting here for a long long time.”

            I opened my eyes wide at the familiar voice. It’s Mycroft.

            “You rescued me.” I said, with a hint of anger.

            “Yes I did. I was watching you, because I worried that you would do unwise things. Like this. Without me, you’d probably be dead by now.”

            I never wanted to die, actually. But what I heard from John made a really deep cut in my heart, and I was so broken, I didn’t think properly. It felt to me, that I owed John a lot. He gave meaning and colour to the broken, confused, plain life of mine. He transformed me. But in turn, I could do nothing for him, not even a little thing, whenever I appeared, I just messed things up. I couldn’t even make him smile.

            And now he wanted me to be dead. He asked me to kill myself. I thought this was the least thing that I could do for him. I couldn’t help him with his worries, his injuries, his pain, so at least I could take my own life and cause him no further trouble.

            In fact, it was not a bad option either, knowing that he would never love me. He would leave me behind, broken, alone, so why should I live when the one I loved most hated me and would never come back to me? Life would not be happy, nor meaningful, if I had to part with John. What is the use of my life, if it was waking up every morning, staring into an empty flat, in an eerie silence, without the usual laughter and jokes from him? Why should I keep my heart beating, if it was so hollow and empty inside? What was the difference between me and a log of wood, if there wasn’t him around, warming me up, cheering me up? Life would simply lost its meaning.

            So why the fuss about dying? At the end, all of us would leave the world with a heavy heart and a broken soul.

*****

“Sherlock?” Mycroft shook my shoulder. “Are you listening?”

I went back to reality. I was lying in a bed, in a hospital-like place, with those fancy instruments beeping around me. Mycroft was staring into my face, with worriedness.

            “I am trying to tell you that, do not play with your life. Please. We can’t lose you. The world can’t lose you. _I_ can’t lose you. I was troubled by your sudden depressed behavior.” He sighed. “If you need anything, just tell me. I will help you, Sherlock. But, don’t, don’t try something stupid.” He looked at me earnestly.

            “Why? Dying frees me from pain. I don’t need to care about other things anymore. It is eternal freedom.” I said bitterly, thinking of John.

            Mycroft sighed again. “Think of it this way, you will bring hurt to all the ones who love you and who care about you if you just die so… irresponsibly.”

            “No one cares or loves me, brother dear.”

            “That’s not true. Just because you don’t care about friends, doesn’t mean you don’t have them.”

            “Says who?”

            “Says I.” A figure was standing by the doorframe. The frame was blocking the light and I couldn’t see clearly the man’s face. He stepped into the light, and… it was him. It was John.

            I was terrified. Would he punch me? Had he overheard our conversation? Had he changed him mind?

            “J… Jo… John?? Why… why are you… here?” I asked, unsurely. He just shook his head, although he opened his mouth and attempted to speak, no sound came out. He walked towards me, and hugged me tightly. He brushed his hair on my cheek, and snuggled his head into my folded arms. “Sherlock, Sherlock. I missed you so so much, and I was so so sorry.”

            John’s warm tears slid along my neck, to my chest. Why was he crying? Wasn’t he angry with me? Why was he hugging me?

            There were so many questions in my head that I just could not figure out, but I did not want to spoil this moment so I remained silent. I patted him on his back gently, and I pulled him even closer to my body. I enjoyed the feeling of him, his tiny little body, against me.

            Mycroft seemed embarrassed and he backed out from the room. “See, you do have friends. In fact, you have someone much more than friends with you. Ask him, Sherlock, ask him what he feels now, and why he came to my office every day to apologize and wailed loudly about how sorry he was to have hurt you.” Mycroft said playfully.

            John was red in the cheek. “Mycroft! Stop that rubbish! I hate you!”

            I chuckled at this madness. “Look, John. I am so sorry to have caused you so much trouble, and it’s okay if you don’t want to see me anymore, I…”

            John suddenly put his left index finger against my lips and stopped me. We looked into each other’s eyes for a second or two, and all of a sudden, John leaned toward me and kissed my lips.

            I was moaning and complaining and not knowing what had happened, and I protested against this sudden confusion. But John was kissing me so hard that I couldn’t even move my head. The feeling was amazing, but I was too puzzled to enjoy the moment.

            Finally he let go of me. “What the hell was happening?” I asked.

            “Did you not like it?” John asked, a bit disappointed.

 

 

            “No I don’t. I _love_ it.”

 

 

 

**The detective and the doctor.**

 

                                                        John Watson’s blog. 18th July 2017. 18:47

 

            We’ve been together for almost a month now, and I think it is time we let everyone know. I’ve never expected that things will turn up this way, considering that I was just looking for a flat mate in the first place.

            This flat mate of mine, however, is a weird guy. He’s got a body of a grown-up, and super high IQ, but a mind so childish. He often winds people up because of his arrogance and ignorant in social relationships and social skills.

            I suppose that because of me, his life becomes a much happier one. Well, he’s got a lot to thank me. For buying _milk_ , for teaching him the solar system, for everything.

            But these years has been a really memorable experience for me. I was a lonely and unsociable man before I met you, Sherlock. Life was dull, life was meaningful, but all the thrill you gave me, all the excitement you gave me, I value them a lot.

            You bring colours to my life. I never knew before, that we have had a relationship much deeper than friendship. You meant so much to me. I cannot lose you again. The last two years were a time of horrible nightmares, so please, Sherlock, don’t leave me behind. Not again.

            Now, we are planning our next move. The official ceremony will probably be held soon, as Sherlock’s mummy prefers a summer wedding. We’ll be handing out invitation cards in a few days. I really hope that everyone here can come and share the happy moment with us.

 

PS: Sherlock is getting really nervous. He had been googling the ceremony procedures all day. He urges me to practice with him every day, and I have to practice waltz with him too. Please, guys, help me calm him down. He is making me anxious too.

 

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** **

                                                           John Watson’s blog. 20th July 2017. 16:12

            Hi everyone! Hi my friends! I am happy! Sherlock is a good boyfriend! I love him!

            Sorry, this is not John. I am hacking into his computer again. At first I planned to delete his previous post, because I assume that he will be making fun of me again. But then I had an idea. I will take revenge here.

            John is a timid guy. He is always worrying about me. Like when I skipped breakfast, he would nag at me all day and force me to eat a sandwich instead. And when he wants to kiss me, he is afraid that I will be angry. Why will I be angry? I cannot be gladder when he kisses me!

            This guy, I love him so much. He is crazily lovely.

            Well, the thing I love most about him is his height. He is miserably short. But that makes the perfect height difference between us. When he cuddles into me, his head lies comfortably on my chest. When we embrace each other, I can push my hand into his soft grey hair easily. And he is so tiny that I can’t help wanting to pet him. But, as I come to realize, although his cuteness, he can also be quite strong and manly.

            That is exactly what I love about him. He is like a… a… little hedgehog. Weak and small, but fiercely hot. He’s my dearest blogger and doctor.

 

PS: I am not nervous about our wedding. Wedding is a meaningless showcase of wealth. But John is anxious, everyone is anxious. Except me.

 

 

**The game is on!**

 

            “Message from Scotland Yard! Murder case. Locked rooms. Ha! Interesting case, _at last_.  John? Are you coming?” Sherlock was yelling from the living room.

            “Yes, but can’t you wait for a moment? I am showering!” I shouted back, muffled by the water.

            “NO! There is not a moment to lose! Let’s go!” Sherlock suddenly yanked open the bathroom door and threw me my coat and my hat. I was in my boxers.

            “Oops. Well, I’ll just wait here, hurry up. Lestrade is waiting for us.”

            This was the tenth time he caught me almost naked in the bathroom, he just couldn’t wait! How annoying.  And he was sitting there, staring at me while I put my clothes on! I mean, have some respect!

            Anyway, I was used to this so I didn’t say a word.

            In the cab, I tried to make conversation but Sherlock was busy on his phone. I wondered what he was doing.

            When we arrived at Scotland Yard, Lestrade was indeed, waiting. Upon seeing him, Sherlock immediately grabbed my hand and kissed it. Lestrade was shocked. Well, news hasn’t spread as fast as I had expected. At least Lestrade was still left in the dark about our relationships. But soon enough he seemed to understand, Sherlock was really protective and was always eager to show to everyone that I was his boyfriend, or more like a pet, actually. Erm, I don’t mind that, really.

            Lestrade, again, offered us a ride in the police cars, but Sherlock, as usual, ignored and called a cab. He was playing with my fingers during the ride, obviously deep in thoughts. Something or someone in the case was clearly troubling him.

            After a while, he seemed to have solved the mystery.

            “Ha!” He exclaimed, and gave my hand a quick kiss. “The game is on!”

           

 

 


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